


feels like heaven

by glossedmouth



Category: bts
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Kim Taehyung | V Is a Sweetheart, M/M, Sweet Park Jimin (BTS)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 13:06:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17981894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glossedmouth/pseuds/glossedmouth
Summary: Taehyung gets mugged in London.Jimin finds him sitting on a bench in front of the fountains with a dazed look on his face, his thermos flask half-empty, and bubblegum pink hair thoroughly messed up. They split up here two hours earlier after a fight in which Jimin yelled at Taehyung for accidentally deleting a whole bunch of pictures from their trip to Madame Tussaud's wax exhibition yesterday.





	feels like heaven

Taehyung gets mugged in London. 

Jimin finds him sitting on a bench in front of the fountains with a dazed look on his face, his thermos flask half-empty, and bubblegum pink hair thoroughly messed up. They split up here two hours earlier after a fight in which Jimin yelled at Taehyung for accidentally deleting a whole bunch of pictures from their trip to Madame Tussaud's wax exhibition yesterday. 

When they first got together, Jimin never lost his temper like that at Taehyung.

Jimin flops down next to Taehyung on the bench and stares at his fingers. The skin on his hands is dry, almost red like his nose from allergies. He looks up at the sky, and sighs, for everything is dull and gray. 

Taehyung's busy studying his scuffed sneakers. His bag is slung around his neck, knuckles white around the straps. In that bag, was their passports, cash, traveler cheques, camera and Jimin's favourite mint drops. 

All gone. 

"Well," Taehyung says, voice hoarse and soft, slightly hesitant as if he fears Jimin's next words are going to be another verbal blow. "Are you going to say anything?" 

Jimin sighs, draws his legs up on the bench and crosses them. He drops his head on Taehyung's shoulder, gently loosens Taehyung's hands from the straps and covers them with his own. "Are you okay?" 

"Not really," Taehyung says, still sounding stiff. "One of the guys was big, he had both his hands wrapped around my throat. Another guy punched me in the stomach twice when I tried to fight the guy trying to choke me. There was a woman with them. She was the one who emptied the bag."

"It's weird," Jimin says. "Why didn't they grab your phone too?"

"I don't know," Taehyung mumbles. "I'm sorry."

Jimin blinks. "Wait, what for?" 

"I'm ruining this trip. We were supposed to relax and unwind, but all I've done so far is fuck shit up. I'm sorry about the pictures. And I'm sorry I couldn't even keep an eye on the cash. I'm so stupid."

"Hey," Jimin whispers, burying his face in the hollow of Taehyung's neck, pressing a few kisses along his jawline. "It could have happened to me too, okay? It's not your fault you were carrying the bag. I have copies of everything back in the hotel room. We can just file a complaint at a police station."

"Yeah, but we're flying to Rome in three days," Taehyung says, worrying his lower lip incessantly with teeth. The anxiety, as always, is starting to bog him down, and Jimin can tell. "Everything is ruined just because--"

"Okay, stop," Jimin says firmly. He gets up, and stretches with a yawn. Something about London makes Jimin extremely tired, down to the marrow. It felt wrong that they even decided to make London their first stop, he thinks, with a shake of his head. He looks back, only to register with a dull shock that Taehyung's eyes are red. 

"Let's go then," Taehyung says, resolutely avoiding his eye. The day is ruined, and despite Jimin's attempts to reassure Taehyung, he knows there is nothing to say for now. 

 

*

 

Jimin fills out the form a sleepy cop hands him before going back to his glazed doughnut and cup of coffee. A LCD screen above is showing a Tottenham vs. Chelsea match. It's probably a testament to how exhausted Jimin is right now, that he doesn't spare a glance, not even for the score. Taehyung stares blankly at Jimin writing. 

Their hands are intertwined together. 

The cop takes the sheet back and grunts, as he skim-reads whatever Jimin just filled out. A long yawn stretches the jowls of his face. 

“You don’t have a license plate?”

Taehyung shakes his head, brows furrowed. To anyone else, Jimin knows Taehyung probably looks nonchalant, casual about the whole thing, like it’s no big deal he just got mugged. But Jimin knows better because he can tell from the sweat on Taehyung’s clammy palm, his shaky larger fingers and the muscle twitching slightly in left cheek that he’s anything but. 

“Before my partner got out of the washroom and recovered from the punches they’d dealt him, they already took off,” Jimin explains, tightening his grip on Taehyung’s hand. Taehyung gives him a grateful look for speaking for him. Another thing Jimin knows is the full extent of Taehyung’s social anxiety. 

“I hate to tell you this but the odds of getting your passports back is pretty low,” says the cop, as he steeples his fingers and fixes them both with a contemplative look, that’s also partly sympathetic. 

“Not much we can do. But we’ll try. We get a whole bunch of you all in here every day, filing complaints about stolen cameras and bags.” 

Jimin resists the urge to sigh. Say anything indignant, make a scene. It’ll trigger an anxiety attack for Taehyung.

“We’re flying out soon,” says Jimin. “Any chance we could check in with you once we get back?” 

The cop nods. “Sure.”

 

*

 

They stop at a convenience store on the way back to their hotel on King’s Cross, and buy the cheapest digital camera. Taehyung finally looks happier, eyes shining as he poses for the first shot. 

Jimin grins, and pulls Taehyung in for a kiss, small hands finding purchase on Taehyung’s pale blue waterproof jacket. He sighs when Taehyung’s mouth parts and they hear a bunch of teenage boys catcalling at them from a double decker bus dawdling past them. Taehyung tries to pull away, his anxiety making to get the best of him again but Jimin is persistent, cups his boyfriend’s flaming cheeks and keeps him close. 

“Ignore everyone,” Jimin murmurs, against Taehyung’s lips and feels the younger man sigh. Taehyung acquiesces before he puts his hands hesitantly back on Jimin’s waist. “Remember, we came to have fun. I’m sorry I yelled at you when we fought earlier. You’re the light of my life. My sweetheart. Remember that.” 

Taehyung doesn’t let go of their linked hands, not even in the subway, and Jimin can’t stop smiling again. He looks at their reflections in the window and the way they look together – Taehyung’s broad shoulders and long limbs contrasted with Jimin’s much tinier frame – fills him with a sense of deep content, the kind only Taehyung manages to instill in him. 

*

They go a little crazy in Rome. 

Taehyung takes Jimin’s advice of ignoring everyone to the extreme. His hands stay on Jimin’s waist the whole time when they’re waiting in line to view the Sistine Chapel, and Jimin blushes a pleased pink when Taehyung’s slender fingers slip into his back pockets. They sip on a single Coke with two straws, buy ice cream and a ton of useless guides on attractions in Rome even though Taehyung already spent a ton of time on his laptop, doing research on all the sights while Jimin did most of the packing and chucked shirts at his head when he refused to help. 

In Saint Peter’s Basilica, Jimin wanders around with the cheap camera they bought from the little convenience store in London. He stares at the _Pieta_ with wide eyes and reads aloud the little blurb about Michaelangelo in the printed booklet to Taehyung, who nods, because it’s not like they don’t know the history behind all of this. It’s the sheer _presence_ of everything, knowing everything about art and sculpture that they love is real, a certain naïveté coming back to life. 

Jimin stands underneath the huge dome, and gapes, lost in the moment as bright light streams down to form a circle around him. Taehyung watches him, eyes soft, as he takes in the crescent lines around Jimin’s eyes that form when he is very happy, dry bleached strands and dark roots, and the huge bulky red waterproof jacket that sits on his petite frame. 

“It’s beautiful,” Jimin tells him, and beckons excitedly with his hand so they can stand under the dome together. “Rome is beautiful.” 

“Yeah,” Taehyung says, still looking at Jimin’s tired face. “Very beautiful.”

 

*

 

“People are staring,” Jimin hisses when Taehyung pulls him behind and the line of people they were following in the Catacombs disappears into the next underground passage. 

“Taehyung—“ he cuts off to break into a stream of heady laughter when Taehyung rubs his sides because he’s ticklish. 

“I thought you said you didn’t care about other people,” Taehyung murmurs, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. Jimin loves it, he rarely gets to see Taehyung be so bold. “Just indulging your exhibitionist streak a little.” 

“How romantic is fucking in what is essentially a graveyard though?” Jimin says, even while he cups the back of Taehyung’s neck, urging him in closer. Their hips slot together, and Jimin muffles a needy whine in Taehyung’s chest, grinding up against him. 

Taehyung kisses the tip of Jimin’s nose, and grins. 

“I’d say it’s pretty romantic.”

*

 

Since Taehyung is a Caravaggio fan, they end up driving to the Church of San Luigi dei Francesi, staring at the huge paintings of Saint Matthew. Then they take off to the Trevi Fountain, and look at each other with soft smiles before throwing coins in the water, their contributions adding to the large mass of copper and silver beneath. 

“What did you wish for?” Jimin asks, casually, as he intertwines their fingers. The camera still hangs around his neck, making him look the part of an obnoxious tourist to a t. 

Taehyung stifles a smile in the collar of his rain jacket, and shakes his head. “It’s a secret.”

“Why is it a secret?” Jimin asks playfully, swinging their hands together. “Is it about me?” 

“Not everything’s about you,” Taehyung gently chides, bending down to kiss the side of his mouth. 

Jimin scoffs. “You know,” he says. “I wished something for someone.” 

“Oh, did you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is it about me?” 

The tips of Jimin’s mouth curve up into an embarrassed smile. “Yes.”

Taehyung squeezes their intertwined fingers tightly, encouraging him to go on. “What about?” 

“I wished you wouldn’t be so hard on yourself all the time. That the way you are right now – you’d be like that when we get home too.” 

It feels like air has left Taehyung’s lungs, leaving him choked for a split second. “Oh,” he says.

They leave that conversation unfinished business. 

*

They drive around the city in the evening because Jimin was right. Rome is beautiful – everything is lit up in hedonistic orange. 

They impulsively decide on a touristy restaurant overlooking the Pantheon, and fumble their way through the wine list because the entire menu is in Italian. Taehyung smiles widely at Jimin the whole time, over plates of bruschetta with black truffle and roasted lamb chops. 

“I’m drinking,” Taehyung says immediately.

Jimin groans. His boyfriend is a lightweight and can’t really handle his alcohol well. He can already foresee very well how the night will go, but when Taehyung tangles their legs under the table, he says naught of it. 

Not when he can’t really drag his gaze away from how delectable Taehyung’s collarbones look, exposed by the top two buttons left undone on his black dress shirt. Jimin takes a couple sips of his red wine and wishes he was having something other than Il Dolce for dessert. 

*

They fuck later, in their hotel room, Jimin’s fingers buried in pink strands, as he bounces on Taehyung’s lap. 

He chases the taste of tiramisu in Taehyung’s pink wet mouth, mixed with black olives and wine. Overwhelming them all is the mint gum Taehyung chewed frantically on their way back to the hotel, while Jimin tried his hardest not to let his hands fly off the steering wheel. Taehyung had his zipper open from where he was sprawled out in the back and their eyes met in the rear view mirror, exchanging heated gazes. It took all of Jimin’s resolve not to pull the car over and jump in the back so he could pull on Taehyung’s hair and sit on his dick. 

“Are you happy?” Taehyung asks, while he slides lube-slick fingers in Jimin’s ass, and crooks them a little. His breath is coming out in short bursts, and Jimin can see the pink flush in his cheeks spread to his throat and chest. He looks lovely, Jimin thinks, completely distracted. 

“Yeah,” Jimin says. “I’m happy.” He reaches for the camera, lying on their bedside table, and turns it on. 

“Smile,” he says. 

Taehyung gives the camera a sultry gaze, with lidded eyes and his tongue peeking out. Jimin rolls his eyes and hits his shoulder lightly. “No,” he says. “Smile. Do something silly.”

“I don’t like my smile,” Taehyung protests, but Jimin is giving him a death glare so intense he recoils and offers an awkward smiley face which pleases Jimin anyway. 

The walls aren’t exactly sound proof but Jimin doesn’t curb his moans, especially not when Taehyung takes control and fucks him from the side, rough and greedy with his thrusts. He hears Taehyung pant harshly behind him, and feels the pillow where his face is pressed against, completely wet with his sweat. 

They come down from their highs in silence, Jimin settling on Taehyung’s chest in content. He maintains his hold on Taehyung’s fingers, stubbornly possessive. Taehyung rests his other hand on the small of Jimin’s back, stroking over the ridges in his spine.

“Are you happy?” Jimin finally dares to ask. Most times, it frightens him to bring it up – the topic of Taehyung’s unhappiness. It looms above their relationship, like a giant thundercloud, waiting to explode any moment. 

But right here, right now, Jimin finds that he’s really got to know. 

Taehyung sighs. 

“Not right now,” he admits. “But yeah, sometimes. I mean, ever since I lost my job. And the lawsuit. Most of this trip is your money.”

Jimin hits him in the chest for that. “I told you not to think about that. And we get discounts for the tickets.” 

“That also comes from your job,” Taehyung says, failing to hide the bitterness in his voice. “Of course, that comes with the perks of being employed with an airline. And then, there’s the thing. You still get to fly around everywhere. I don’t even have that anymore. Just because I spoke out, which was stupid, I should have never bothered—“

“It was brave,” Jimin interjects sharply. “You did the right thing, baby.”

Taehyung’s hold on him tightens, and then Jimin can see it in his eyes again – the hollowness, the complete and utter despair. He lets his chin be tilted up for a soft, close-mouthed kiss. 

“Everything makes me anxious,” Taehyung says, in a whisper so soft Jimin has to strain to hear him. “I wake up after nightmares of having to re-tell the story over and over and over again to the journalists, when you’re working. Then when I get sleep, it’s restless and I wake up drenched in sweat. It’s stupid, that I have to rely on you this much to get my life back in order. No one wants to hire me, and we can’t get married and—“ 

“Fuck marriage,” Jimin swears, and then he immediately regrets saying that when Taehyung’s eyes shutter. He knows Taehyung can get rather sensitive on this topic, it’s one they’ve argued about multiple times before. 

“Easy for you to say,” Taehyung retorts. 

“I’m sorry,” Jimin says, ashamed of himself. 

Taehyung cards his fingers in Jimin’s hair, an unspoken sign that he’s forgiven, even though he did cross a limit there. “Do you know what I wished for?” 

“What?” 

“I wished,” Taehyung says, with a watery smile. “That I would wake up tomorrow morning, with you by my side and I never decided to become a whistleblower. That this is all a bad dream, and I still have a job.” 

Jimin curses under his breath. He thumbs Taehyung’s cheek and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“You can’t wish for things to go back how they were.” 

“I can.” 

 

*

 

Jimin wakes up next morning, with a hand thrown over his face as rectangular patches of light fall on his bare chest from the blinds. He curses, and throws a hand out blindly, searching for the familiar warmth of Taehyung’s bony body tangled in white sheets. 

He wipes the crust away from his eyes and props himself up on his elbows, watching blearily as Taehyung emerges from the shower in a bath robe. His hair is still wet, and the pink’s faded out more. Jimin smiles lazily, which Taehyung returns. Before Taehyung had very been against the idea of colouring his hair pink. He’d argued he wasn’t a rebellious teenager seeking to be different from his brilliant brother who was in medical school at the time. 

Now Taehyung didn’t care so much, and for that, Jimin was equal parts happy and sad. 

“Slept well?” 

“Yeah,” Jimin says, hoisting himself out of bed. He slips his feet into fluffy bathroom slippers and tiptoes up to give Taehyung a morning breathed kiss, resting his hands on broad shoulders. 

Taehyung makes a face and holds him, giving his butt a playful slap. Jimin yells, and hits him on the shoulder except his punches are relatively unthreatening and lack any force, which makes a smirk grow on Taehyung’s face. 

“So I was thinking earlier in the shower,” Taehyung says. 

“Uh oh,” Jimin says, eyes still closed as Taehyung’s lips curve against his forehead. “Thinking’s not good for you. I forbid you from thinking.” 

“No, you want to hear this.”

Jimin leans back, to give his partner a look of pure trepidation. “Okay. What have you been thinking about?” 

“I’m going back to school this fall.” 

Silence. 

Jimin’s eyes widen. Taehyung shifts nervously under his gaze. 

“I mean, what the hell, right? So I can’t get a job and I’m at rock bottom at the moment. But I have you, and I still have my savings, and I called my brother in the morning. He said he’s willing to help me out.” 

“Are you serious about this?” Jimin asks him slowly. 

The tips of Taehyung’s ears turn red. “Yes,” he says firmly. “I’m sure.” 

Taehyung lets out a surprised squeal when Jimin flings his arms around his neck. “You always have me,” Jimin says, clutching fistfuls of the soft material of Taehyung’s bath robe. “I’m very proud of you.” 

*

They decide to extend their stay in Rome for another day, before departing for Florence. 

The last picture Jimin takes is not of the city. It’s a blurry one of Taehyung laughing, head propped up in Jimin’s lap, a wide smile on his face before Taehyung lunged for the camera and whined that he was taking too many silly pictures.

When they're back in London for their flight home, Jimin conveniently forgets to go back to the police station and check on their lost stuff. 

He decides it doesn't matter.


End file.
